


Ephemeral

by DivatheAvid



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivatheAvid/pseuds/DivatheAvid
Summary: Valyria Lavellan had found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time; now, with the weight of all Thedas on her shoulders, her fate is slowly unfurling and she remains uncertain of just what is to come.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford/Solas, Female Lavellan/Solas, Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Ephemeral

From shackles made of steel, to those of fate - indecisive and cruel; Valyria hesitated at the threshold of Haven, the sound of steel clashing against steel nearly drowned out by the whisper of the cold northern winds crooning through her hair and sweeping it from its perch upon her shoulder. She was frozen, be it by fear, the chill of winter, or even a mixture of both - apprehension drove every beat of her heart, a furious roar within the caverns of her chest that all but screamed for her to make a decision and to do it with haste. 

“ They are waiting for you, herald. “

Cassandra’s voice was no comfort, not when she had wished for Valyria’s head on a pike not more than a day prior - accented and rough, it lacked the warmth of Leliana’s but complemented the face it belonged to almost too perfectly. However, it was the shove the so-called Herald needed and her feet began their arduous march through Haven, dirt and snow collecting on the soles of her shoes to leave a trail across the floor of the Chantry. 

She wasn’t ready though, not yet. 

Quickly, she veered towards the right and vanished between two closely settled buildings, narrowly missing running into one of the Sisters as she scampered off towards the Blacksmith. Cassandra’s shouting caused her pointed ears to twitch uncomfortably, even when she only half-understood what was being said - she would return later, when her nerves had settled and she felt a bit more . . .open to talking and discussing just how everything would be moving forward. 

“ Hiding, are we? “ 

If Cassandra’s voice was like the bellowing of a war horn, Varric’s was the smooth crooning of a morning bird; despite how she jumped at the sound, Valyria was ever quick to settle and press her back to the wooden slats that made up the outlying wall of Haven’s Inn - what a fool she must have seemed, rushing off without a word - Dread Wolf take her, she was supposed to be a woman grown, not a child. 

“ I just needed . . air. “ 

That retort had earned a laugh and a snort, evasion had never been her strong suit, that was for certain. 

“ Ah, the Herald of Andraste, afraid of Seeker Pentaghast - that’s one for the books. If it’s air you need, though, I suppose you’re in a good spot, being outside and all. “

Like a child amidst its first scolding, Valyria deflated and allowed her head to knock against her only line of support with a gentle ‘thump’ - it was more than air she needed; she wanted to run, through the snow and the woods, roam free in search of answers that seemed so far off and so uncertain. She shouldn’t have been there, she should have stayed out of it, persuaded the Keeper better so she’d choose someone else, someone better suited for acting as an impromptu spy - a skilled hunter would have been in and out in minutes, not wandering aimlessly through the crowd trying to avoid the eyes of templars and soldiers alike. Obsidian brows curled inward, wrinkling the skin between and forcing her nose to scrunch as she made an attempt to chase away that pesky, irritable voice that spoke only of her misdeeds and poor luck - Andraste’s chosen or otherwise, Valyria of clan Lavellan felt the least capable of bringing hope to anyone. 

“ You know, your face might just stay like that if you hold it long enough. “ 

With a sharp inhale and a slow, torturous exhale, Valyria pulled her frayed ends inward and sewed herself back into all she could manage; a mere ghost of confidence tied up in pretty packaging. 

“ Would that be so bad, the Herald of Andraste being an eternally sour-faced shrew? “ 

Making Varric laugh was easy, even if he did it only out of the kindness of his heart; it was a deep rumble within his chest that reverberated through his entire body, relieving the strain of that ever-present cocky smirk of his and replacing it with a grin that showed off the unevenness of his teeth and the beautiful hollow of his cheeks. What colors would she use to paint him? Golds and reds, a touch of orange for the waning sun and perhaps even a subtle blue to highlight the chill of winter - she’d start the sketch when she had a moment alone, if the Gods would allow her even just that simple kindness. 

“ Sour-faced I understand, but where does the ‘shrew’ part come from? “ 

A soft hum escaped her lips, chapped by the cold and reddened by her incessant need to nip at them in moments where she fought to keep her composure - they pursed and she feigned an act of losing herself within the thought just before she offered a shrug of her shoulders. 

“ Perhaps you just don’t know me well enough, Varric. “ 

How easily he calmed her, even when it seemed the world would open up at any moment and swallow her whole - was this what it was like to have a friend? Not someone deemed a comrade or companion by the ties of familiarity or under the guise of being a ‘family’, but a true, honest friend . . . it was refreshing, even if it was only one of so few interactions, it all came so naturally. 

“ Right, right. Our little mage is secretly an ill-tempered nag, that’s entirely believable. “ 

Reality came crashing back at the sound of footsteps and clamor of armor, though it wasn’t Cassandra who sauntered by, Valyria’s renewed light faltered. She’d have to go soon, waltz through the Chantry towards whatever doom awaited her and play impromptu leader for a group of people far more capable than her - she could still see everyone faces the moment she emerged from that cabin, awe-struck and enamored by an Elf of all things; no one muttered ‘knife-ear’, no one dared to meet her gaze or even give a hint of what was happening. That’s when she wandered away, quick-footed and eager to escape just as she had done not even twenty-minutes ago. 

“ Ah, right - Chuckles was looking for you earlier, I forgot to mention that. “ 

Valyria’s head instantly cocked to the side, instantly veiling half her face in curls of obsidian that she chased away with a haphazard wave of her hand, nearly smacking herself on the nose in the process. 

“ Solas - the bald apostate? He’s up by the apothecary looking contemplative, if you want to investigate. “ 

Solas. 

She could still feel his touch, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and guiding her hand - the way his breathing stilled and his heart shuddered within his chest as she, or they, closed the rift. In that moment, that brief blip in the eternal turning of the wheel, she felt a shift. 

She needed to see him again.


End file.
